


A Meaningless Hope

by Alyss_Baskerville



Series: The Music of the Ainur [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Betrayal, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Nah he's definitely OOC, OOC Sauron, Or maybe not OOC, Who knows what he was like back then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 03:01:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyss_Baskerville/pseuds/Alyss_Baskerville
Summary: She cannot believe this. She will not believe it.She must return him to the light, to the service of Aule and the Valar. She must turn him away from that treacherous Morgoth. He will listen to her. He must.





	A Meaningless Hope

_"Mairon."_

Sauron turns his head, his fair locks swishing about his back, at the sound of her voice. He wonders how she escaped her confinement, but this is _her._ He should have known she would find a way. 

Nevertheless, knowing what she wants to say from the expression on her face, he turns away, sparing her no more than a glance. He does not think he can bear the desperation in her green eyes. He has always loved her eyes best; strong and bold and challenging. A single glimpse of the utter hopelessness that has dulled her sharp gaze is more than he wants to fathom. 

So he walks away, but he should have known better.

She chases him - he can hear her hurried footfalls following. He wants to run, but he doesn't dare. He must not show her that her sorrow cuts him more deeply than she can understand. It will give her false hope that he still accepts the name Mairon. 

_"Mairon,"_ she calls again. "Please!" 

He sets his jaw. He will not waver. 

"If you love me, if you have ever loved me," she cries, "stop this madness. This is not you. It is not who you are, and you know it!"

He keeps walking. 

_"Mairon!"_

He cannot. He must correct her. His old name on his lips is like fire and ice to his ears, to his soul - he cannot endure the agony. He must let her know his true name. His name now. 

He stops and turns, gazing at her coldly, a split-second before he realizes his mistake. He should not have turned back to look at her. They have always sworn to share their pain, and this, it seems, is no different. The torment in her eyes seems like his very own. He does not know how he manages to keep his expression stoic. 

_I must be more heartless than even I believe._

"That is not my name," he tells her, frosty and detached. "I am Sauron." 

"No," she spits, "No, I will not believe it. You are not _The Abhorred_ to me, you never will be. You cannot force me to accept that title of you. _Mairon._ "

"A pity," he returns. Has she heard the tremor in his voice?

He forces his next words out nonetheless. "You will address me as Sauron or we will cease all communication." She must see that what he is doing is right for them. No longer will they have to be slaves to the accursed Valar, who flaunt their might, their power, their wisdom, utterly unaware of their own hypocrisy and ignorance. No longer will they have to be oppressed by such old fools. 

"Then we will cease all communication!" she snaps viciously. "I will sooner rot in that damned tower you have imprisoned me in than refer to you as _Sauron!_ " She flings the last word out of her mouth - _his name now_ \- as if it is some vile disease. This time, it is beyond his ability to say anything. The hatred with which she hisses _Sauron_ shocks him. And more than that, it wounds him.

So he simply walks away. But she is not finished.

 _"I loved you!"_ she shouts. He pauses in his tracks, and she takes the opportunity to charge after him, practically throwing herself into his path. The ferocity in her eyes has returned. That is the her that he is used to, but the anguish tainting her gaze mars his gladness at seeing the old her. 

"I loved you," she repeats, closing the distance so they are nose-to-nose, she glaring up at him. Her next words are nothing but a whisper. _"And I love you still."_

He wavers and she sees it. 

"Mairon," she breathes, "Please, please, this is not you. You would not do this. You _will not_ do this. After everything we have endured together, everything we have been to each other, you cannot abandon the Valar - you cannot abandon _me._ _Please._ "

The Valar. 

Yes, the Valar. Those outdated cretins. He will not return to them. He will not submit to their obsolete and tired ideals. He will not bow and scrape like a slave at their chastising, their condescending, their blind arrogance. And he will not allow her to either. She may not see it now. But she will. He will make her, he will not let the Valar make a puppet, a pawn, out of either of them. 

But first, he must get away from her. He must collect his thoughts. Her presence, her sadness, her beseeching, is driving him mad.

He begins to walk again.

She attempts to push him back with a hand against his chest, but he resists, continuing his forward stride. Realizing the futility of her fight here, she turns and runs a small distance ahead of him before turning and pinning him with her burning gaze once again. 

"Listen to me!" she demands, her voice breaking. He deliberately shies away from considering the possible causes. Is she crying? Is she withholding sobs? He is not sure he can bear to know. "All you must do is return. That is the only thing you must do to make amends. They will forgive you if you return."

His heart hardens. Return? Forgiveness? Amends? He will not return. He will not make _amends._ He does not desire _their_ forgiveness, sightless fools that they are. With Melkor, he will have everything he desires, and he will give _her_ everything _she_ desires. He will make her understand that. 

Just not now, not today. 

He keeps walking. 

"Come back with me!" she pleads, but he refuses to heed her. As he walks past her, he feels her slender hands grasping at his sleeves, at his robes, but he walks on, eyes set straight ahead. If he looks at her, his resolve will falter. Behind him, his Orcs, the ones he charged with confining and protecting her, bar her path. He can hear her struggling, calling out to him, shoving against the Orcs, but it is for naught. 

"Mairon!" she shouts. "Mairon, I beg you!" 

He does not stop. If he stops, he will find himself running back to her. He does not listen. If he listens, he will break. He must not break. He must stand firm, for her sake and his. Her pain gnaws at him, but she will see the truth soon. _This is merely a temporary setback,_ he tells himself firmly. _She will be in your arms again in no time._

**~**

The next day, he receives word. How could he have failed to see it?

She died of grief.

**Author's Note:**

> I know the concept of "dying from heartbreak" is a trope that makes some people roll their eyes (myself included, sometimes). But as we know, elves can die of grief, so I kind of used that idea in this one-shot.


End file.
